


Envoy

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Hand Jobs, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 01:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11369316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Faramir’s given to Aragorn, and Aragorn wants to spirit him away.





	Envoy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He wakes to the slight creak of the bed and knows the weight has shifted. When he opens his eyes to peer through the early light, he finds Faramir’s back to him, perched on the very edge of the mattress, fastening trousers around the middle. Aragorn eyes the broad expanse of sun-kissed skin with a sense of wonderment and longing. Since the first moment he laid eyes on the steward’s second son, Aragorn thought him _beautiful_.

Aragorn almost wishes now that the steward hadn’t seen his looks at all. Though, he supposes, it’s unlikely this was Denethor’s first vile act. And perhaps time spent with Aragorn is time Faramir’s spared his father’s other rotten whims. It just seems such a cruel fate for a man so noble, so wise and strong-hearted, to be relegated to nothing more than warming the bed of visiting lords. Aragorn only wishes there was something he could do to convince _Faramir_ of that. 

He asks with the quietness of clinging sleep, “Are you leaving?” 

Faramir stills. His lovely face remains out of view, and his voice is carefully steady as he returns, “I will stay, if my lord would like.”

Aragorn only counters, “I would like you to do as you wish.”

Faramir’s head lowers, and when it turns to the side, Aragorn sees the faint smile there, grown fond as Faramir eyes Aragorn’s languid body. He seems to understand what Aragorn is truly getting at, for they’ve had the same conversation many times during Aragorn’s brief stay, always with Faramir reluctant to deny his father and Aragorn aching for it. Soft and kind, Faramir promises, “I assure you, it is no hardship to lie with the most handsome man Gondor has ever known.”

There’s such sincerity in Faramir’s words. If there weren’t, Aragorn would rather have Faramir leave. But for the affection in Faramir’s sad eyes, Aragorn lifts the corners of the blanket. He ignores the exaggerated compliment, one Faramir often gives him—it seems their appreciation of one another’s looks is mutual. Yet he’s sure there’s _more_ in Faramir’s gentle gaze, and that’s what really holds him fast.

Faramir eyes the blanket for a moment, then lowers down and slips beneath it, pressing back against Aragorn’s bare side. Aragorn wears nothing; they’d fallen asleep again after a fit of passion, and they both still reek of sweat and sex for it, in sore need of a bath. That can wait for another hour. Aragorn tosses one arm over Faramir to embrace his warm body, and Faramir asks quietly, “Shall I ride my lord again?” Aragorn lifts a brow, and Faramir sighs and corrects, “ _Aragorn_... perhaps I should warm your cock with my mouth instead.”

Aragorn’s shaft stirs at the idea, and it takes some effort to keep himself in check. He can feel Faramir hard against his leg, and when he reaches down to clasp around it, Faramir gasps, arching into him. Aragorn kisses his forehead and pumps him once, earning a little cry and some squirming—Faramir wraps both arms around Aragorn to hold on tight. Aragorn faithfully strokes Faramir’s cock as he murmurs, “How can you possibly be happy here, my handsome soldier, when your talents are set to waste?”

Faramir shivers in Aragorn’s arms, already overcome, but he breathlessly volleys, “You do not think me talented at this?”

Aragorn declines to laugh at the teasing. He kisses the side of Faramir’s lips. Then he makes his way along Faramir’s jaw, reaching his ear to kiss and lick, and Aragorn whispers into it, “Denethor does not deserve you. You should ride north, with me—in Imladris, you would be a _prince_.”

Faramir cries out then, not at the words but at Aragorn’s fist squeezing his cock. He clings dizzily to Aragorn’s shoulders as Aragorn increases the pace, slicked now only by more gathering sweat, and the knowledge that Faramir is stimulated most when things are a little _rough_ , though only slightly, and he must still be handled with care. He’s a rare gem that Aragorn treasures beyond all things. It takes Faramir a long time to manage, “L... leave...? With you...?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Aragorn insists. He chooses then to find Faramir’s mouth, and he fills it with tongue—Faramir opens easily for him, always has. He grinds his own shaft against Faramir’s creamy thighs as he strokes Faramir to the edge, and he kisses Faramir over and over with all he has. 

Somehow, Faramir breaks free enough to moan, “Could I warm your bed there too?”

“Yes,” Aragorn groans, nearing the end himself, even though his only stimulation is passing friction and the beauty that is _Faramir_. “And I would warm yours... and we would ride together, two kings disguised as rangers, sharing great cities and the open wilderness alike...”

Faramir makes a noise of such utter abandon that it’s all Aragorn can do to hold on. In the end, it’s Faramir’s smile that topples him, alight with both lust and endless adoration.

Faramir spills himself first by only a few seconds, bubbling over Aragorn’s hand with a long cry, and Aragorn is right behind him, barreling into a long wave of _pleasure_. They don’t kiss through it, only nuzzle into one another, hips still grinding together and faces burning. When the ecstasy has finally simmered into coherency again, Aragorn is heavy and sated beyond repair. 

With his last strength, he lifts one hand to thread through Faramir’s honey hair, and he plays with the soft waves as he whispers, “Well?”

Faramir sighs. He looks satisfied, full of joy and torn all at once. He answers only, “I will think on it.”

Aragorn nods and drifts back to sleep, hoping and dreaming of Faramir’s _‘Yes.’_


End file.
